


It's All Routine

by CouldntBeDamned



Series: The Doctor Will See You Now [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Dacryphilia, Don't Try This At Home, Dubious Ethics, Humiliation, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Peter Parker is of Age, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sexual Roleplay, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26926135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CouldntBeDamned/pseuds/CouldntBeDamned
Summary: Peter Parker is back at Dr. Strange's office for a physical required by his upcoming internship.  He's hoping it will be quick and easy, but when Dr. Strange finds out that he hasn't had a physical since he was a young child, his hopes are dashed.  Dr. Strange intends to be very thorough.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Stephen Strange
Series: The Doctor Will See You Now [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1964650
Comments: 14
Kudos: 87





	It's All Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags. No, seriously, I'll wait. Read the tags.

**It's All Routine**

* * *

He’s so nervous, after what happened last time.

Yes, Dr. Strange had been right, and the enema _had_ been necessary. And yes, Peter _did_ feel so much better afterward. But still.

Dr. Strange had _touched_ him. Had taunted him because Peter had gotten hard. The way he’d looked at him made Peter feel like he was dirty or some kind of freak. Worst of all, the resulting orgasm that Strange had wrung out of him had been one of the best he’d ever had.

He’s thrown out of his thoughts by the knock on the door.

“Yeah.”

Dr. Strange comes in the exam room, dressed in dark blue scrubs with his stethoscope around his neck. He’s unfairly good looking and Peter hates that he can’t control the blush that’s creeping up his neck.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker.” He offers his hand and Peter reluctantly shakes it. He sits down on the wheeled stool and Peter hopes that this will just be a regular exam, a regular physical, nothing… weird.

“So, what brings you in today, Mr. Parker?”

It’s unnerving, how friendly Strange is being, like the last visit didn’t happen, like he didn’t torture Peter’s prostate and jerk him off.

“Physical,” Peter says quietly. “I have to have one before I can start my internship.”

Dr. Strange nods. “Great. Have you had a physical before?”

“Back when I was like, five,” he answers. “Never had a reason to since then.”

“Well, you should really have one every year. And since this is your first one in thirteen years, I’m going to be thorough.”

Peter doesn’t like the sound of that. “Define thorough.”

Dr. Strange smiled. “Just trust me, Peter. It’s all perfectly normal. It's all routine.”

Peter’s heart gives a little skip. The last time Strange assured him of that…

“O-okay. Just, no funny stuff?”

“All routine,” Strange assures him. “Now, I’m going to step out for a few minutes while you undress and pull on your exam gown, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Peter gives himself to the count of ten before he stands to comply after Strange leaves the exam room. He’s careful as he undresses - he doesn’t want the doctor to think he’s a slob - or to see his worn old boxers. He folds his clothes and sets them on the spare chair and stuffs his socks in his shoes and lines them neatly underneath. He pulls on the exam gown, tying it behind him for the good it will do; it’s been washed so many times it’s nearly see-through. He sits back on the table and lets his legs hang loosely, trying to relax.

A knock.

“Ready,” Peter says stiltedly.

Strange comes back in and takes in Peter’s sullen manner. He chuckles softly. “Try to look more put out, why don’t you?” he teases. “It’s just a physical.”

“And last time was just supposed to be a short visit because my stomach hurt,” Peter snaps back.

Strange’s smile fades abruptly. “Are _you_ a doctor, Peter?”

“No.”

“Have you had any kind of medical training?”

“No.”

“And did your stomach stop hurting after the treatment I prescribed?”

“Yes,” Peter admits, not happy about it at all.

“Then maybe you should listen to someone who _has_ had training and _is_ a doctor and therefore knows better than you,” Strange says calmly, though his eyes are narrowed. “I’m not going to neglect the care of a patient just because he feels the need to behave like an ungrateful little brat.”

“’M sorry,” Peter mumbles, looking down.

“I didn’t catch that,” Strange says. “Want to try again?”

Peter looks up, face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For being a brat,” Peter says.

“Good. Now, let’s get started. Let’s get your height and weight.”

Peter stands on the scale and feels the odd sensation of the height rod on the top of his head. “5 feet, 8 inches tall, very good. Now, just keep standing there -” he moves the weight-beam and counter-weight and Peter watches as it balances. “132 pounds.” Strange steps back and directs Peter to stand in front of the exam table. “BMI is a pretty terrible indicator of health, but yours is in the normal range,” he informs Peter.

Peter feels stupid just standing there but Strange is marking things down on his chart. “What else is there?” He asks.

“I’m going to take all of your measurements so we can establish a baseline for future visits.”

“What kind of measurements?” Peter doesn’t like the sound of that. “You said I’m normal.”

“Who’s the doctor here?” Strange asks.

“You are,” Peter sighs out.

“That’s right,” Strange says. “These are basic measurements of your muscles and the like. We need to make sure you’re growing properly.”

“I’m already 18 though,” Peter protests. “Aren’t I done growing?”

“It’s normal for boys to finish growing around the age of 18, however, some continue to grow into their early 20s. Also, if you put on or lose muscle mass, we should make note of it, for monitoring purposes.” Dr. Strange has a measuring tape now, ribbon-esque like the one Mrs. Leeds uses when she’s sewing.

Peter’s measured around each of his calves, his thighs, his waist. Luckily, he manages to not pop a boner when gloved hands adjust his body. After untying the gown and shrugging so that it falls down to his waist, his chest is measured. Then, for some reason, Strange measures the width of each of his pecs. Peter opens his mouth to question why, but at Strange’s unimpressed look, he refrains. His wrists, forearms, biceps follow, and then his neck.

“Now,” Strange says. “There are some other measurements I need to take, just to be thorough.”

Peter _really_ doesn’t like the sound of that. “I don’t think-”

“You’re not here to think, Peter. You’re here to get your physical, so you can start your internship.” Dr. Strange’s voice is sharp and Peter’s reminded that if he fails his physical, he won’t be able to start his internship and all of his plans will be ruined.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “Let’s just get it done.”

“There’s the compliant patient I like to see,” Strange says. “Now, open your mouth.”

Peter does and he feels the tape measure across. _What the fuck?_

“Turn around for me, please, and bend over the table.”

Feeling awkward, Peter does, and he feels his gown hang open. It exposes, well, a lot and once again, his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He feels the tape measure at his… his _hole_ and the slight pressure from where Strange stops it right where his balls start.

“Anogenital distance is average, that’s good,” Strange mutters.

The doctor lays the tape from the top of his ass, just where the split starts, and crouches down to measure where it ends. “Very good,” he says lowly. “Now, please spread.”

Miserable, Peter spreads his legs. “No, not your legs, your buttocks.”

With a whimper of embarrassment, he shifts and pulls his cheeks apart as he bends back over. He hadn’t thought there could be an appointment more horrifying than the one where he’d been given an enema, but apparently, he’d been wrong. He feels measuring tape again and with a pleased sort of sound, he sees Strange mark down something on his chart out of the corner of his eye.

“Okay. I’m going to go ahead and take your temperature while I have you here,” Dr. Strange announces. He stands to grab a thermometer off of the cart. It looks like an old one, not one of the ones that press into an ear or roll across the forehead.

“H-how?”

“Well, the most accurate result comes rectally,” Strange explains. “It takes about 3 minutes to get the best reading.”

“Please don’t,” Peter begs. He can’t have something _up there_ again, not after last time.

“You’ll hardly feel a thing,” Strange insists. “The thermometer is quite a bit thinner than the tubing for an enema. I’m still going to use some medical grade lubricant to help ease the way, but it’s much less intrusive than you think.”

Peter just holds his breath and waits. Nothing.

“Actually, I think we should do this another way,” Strange decides.

Peter lets out a sigh of relief. Finally, the doctor has seen sense.

“Why don’t you hop up on the table and scoot down? I’ll set up the stirrups for you.”

Peter sits up on the table and lays back. He can see Strange raising the stirrups and locking them in place. They’re old-looking, like they’re meant to rest under his knees, not his heels. “Now,” he’s told. “Scoot down until I say stop, okay?” Peter shimmies his way down until he feels like his ass is nearly hanging off of the table before Strange says to stop. He lets his legs rest in the stirrups and feels very exposed as the stirrups keeping his legs out of the way are spread wider.

“Okay, the access is much better now,” Strange tells him.

Peter watches with some betrayal as Strange applies the lubricant to the thermometer and lowers it to where he’s exposed. “What? You said we’d do it differently!”

“I was clearly talking about how you were positioned, Peter,” Strange explains patiently, inserting the thermometer. “This is only going in about an inch and a half deep,” he adds. “And it will need to stay in place for about three minutes.”

Peter lays his head back, determined to just bear it. A physical surely can’t last too long, right?

“Time for some more measurements,” Dr. Strange announces.

“What else is there?” Peter asks, already dreading the answer.

“Genital measurements,” comes the answer.

Incredulous, Peter sits up quickly only to be pushed back down gently, but firmly, by a calm-looking Dr. Strange. “You have got to be joking!” he says.

“I’m not,” Strange says. “Baseline measurements are needed, especially if you’re planning on becoming sexually active. I don’t understand why you’re so resistant, Peter. It’s just a snapshot in time of your physical health. There’s nothing unusual about any of this.” He speaks with a calm, steady voice that makes Peter feel like _he’s_ the one being unreasonable. “Why are you so embarrassed?”

Peter shrugs. “Dunno, just seems wrong, you know? We’re told not to let strangers touch us.”

“I’m not a stranger, Peter. I’m your doctor. Everything I do is to ensure that you stay as healthy and happy as possible.” He looks at Peter’s half-hard cock. “I’ll need both erect and flaccid measurements. Which one do you want to do first?”

Peter looks uncertainly up at him. “Do I have to come?” he asks.

Dr. Strange gives him a funny look. “This isn’t a porn video, Peter,” he chastises.

Peter’s back to blushing. “Sorry. It’s just that last time-”

“Last time, you were an uncompliant patient who kept humping his doctor’s hand while he tried to give you a prostate exam,” Strange says. “If it weren’t for patient privacy laws, I could have sued you for sexual assault.”

Peter feels tears starting to form. He hadn’t _meant_ to become aroused! He’d hated it! And surely, Dr. Strange is remembering wrong!

As if he can read Peter’s mind, Strange speaks again. “I have an eidetic memory, Peter. I remember _everything_. Now, since you’re obviously in no state to make a decision, we’ll go ahead and take the erect measurements first.”

Peter had almost forgotten the weird sensation of a gloved hand stroking his cock. Strange has used some of the lubricant to ease his way, but even the glide isn’t enough to keep Peter from quietly crying due to the embarrassment. He hates that he’s even getting harder at the attention, hates that it’s so easy for Dr. Strange to get him this way. It’s not his fault he’s so touch-sensitive!

“Okay, I think that’s it,” Strange says. He brings the tape and measures from the base of Peter’s shamefully erect cock to the tip of his cockhead. Then he moves the tape around in some manner that obviously makes sense to him. “Total erect length is 6 ⅛ inches Shaft length is 4 ¾ inches, and erect girth is 5 inches.” He scribbles on Peter’s chart.

Peter has no idea how he’s supposed to get flaccid in the time it will take to finish his exam. He wants to come, but he’d rather it be in his bedroom while he’s got a fist to his mouth and is watching one of those sex videos where twink is bent over their Dom’s lap getting spanked. He’s not going to come here, according to Dr. Strange and that’s just fine with him. Really.

“It’s been nearly four minutes so, let’s get your temperature now.” Strange is gentle as he eases the thermometer out of Peter’s hole and Peter can _feel_ his hole clenching at the loss, minimal though it is. “99.2°. Just a smidge above average, but that’s okay.”

How Dr. Strange is just ignoring Peter’s erect cock, Peter doesn’t know. Peter’s still crying quietly, can feel the fat tears rolling down his cheeks. It’s too much - being hard, needing to come but not wanting to, having such private parts of himself put on display in the name of a physical by a doctor who obviously doesn’t think much of him.

Dr. Strange grabs something else off of the table. It’s a strand of odd-shaped beads, starting small and then growing larger. “This is an orchidometer,” he says. “I’m going to use this to measure the volume of your testicles.”

Peter moans unhappily, feels the tears start to come faster.

“This won’t take long,” Strange assures him, as if Peter’s dismay has anything to do with fear of how long the procedure will take.

He cups Peter’s balls in his gloved hand, massaging more than Peter’s sure is necessary, prompting another moan and his cock to twitch. “Good feel,” Strange comments. “I’m not detecting anything unusual.” He shifts the placement of his hand to just underneath on the left. “Go ahead and cough, please.”

Peter gives a wet cough and the doctor rubs the area. His cock is throbbing, and he wants it to be _done_.

“Again, please.” More rubbing. He’s pressing insistently along Peter’s taint and Peter can’t help but moan. He tries to disguise it as a cough, but the harsh squeeze he gets tells him he’s failed.

“Peter, I’m going to need you to start controlling yourself,” he’s told sharply.

“’M sorry,” he whimpers, and more tears spill.

Strange’s hand moves to just under his right testicle and fondles some more. Only it’s not fondling but _examining_ and any pleasure Peter’s feeling is just personal weakness on his part.

“Cough.”

It’s another weak cough he lets out, but he coughs again when Strange thumbs over his taint, causing his cock to twitch.

“No sign of herniation, which is ideal.” Strange keeps a hold of his right ball and compares it against the string of beads. He shifts his grip until he’s found a suitable match. “16 on the right.” The doctor repeats the weird comparison with his left ball. “And 16 on the right. Very good. Not terribly big, but you’re definitely not a little boy, either.”

Strange stands and his cool gaze settles on Peter’s still embarrassingly-erect cock. “So uncontrolled,” he says with a long sigh. And I can’t complete my measurements until you’re flaccid."

He pulls off his gloves and for a glorious moment, Peter’s sure he’s been given a reprieve, that this is _over,_ and he’ll be allowed to stroke himself off in privacy and finish his physical another day. Surely there can’t be much left, after all?

The doctor moves over to the small fridge next to the cabinet and pulls something out. Good, Peter thinks. He could do with some water.

Then Dr. Strange turns around and settles an old-fashioned ice pack on his groin.

Peter jerks with a yell, crying more. It’s so _cold_ and how could Dr. Strange do this to him?

“It will help get you out of here faster,” Strange tells him coolly. “I thought it would make you happy, since you’re obviously too immature to deal with getting a routine physical like an actual adult.”

With tears running down his face and the blistering cold on his groin, Peter feels like Dr. Strange is right, that he’s being unreasonable about everything. He doesn’t feel like someone mature enough to have such a prestigious internship, even if he is 18.

“Now,” Strange says, snapping on another pair of blue gloves. “Do you think you can be a grown-up long enough for me to complete your physical?”

Peter looks down and sniffles. “Y-yes, Doctor.”

“Good.”

Dr. Strange pulls up his gown and starts palpating down his abdomen. “Any pain when I press down?”

“N-no,” Peter says.

The doctor presses down on his left side just underneath his ribs. “Here?” “No.” And then his right side. “What about here?” “No.” “Good. From what I can feel everything is in order.”

He steps back and makes some notes on Peter’s chart. “Any history of smoking?”

“What? No!” Peter says, horrified at the thought.

“It’s just a standard question, Peter, not an accusation,” Strange tells him. “What about alcohol? Any drinking?”

“I-” Peter isn’t sure what to say.

“Firstly, I’m going to remind you that everything here falls under doctor-patient privilege and secondly, I’m quite good at telling when someone is lying to me, Peter. I suggest you be truthful with your doctor.” Strange is looking at him with narrowed eyes.

Peter wipes his nose with the back of his hand and wipes that on his rucked-up exam gown. “I had a drink at a party a couple of weekends ago.”

“And was that the first time you were drinking underage?”

Peter, legs restrained, groin icing down, and feeling miserable, squirms. “N-no.” He averts his gaze from Strange’s cool one. “Three times before that. I’ve never been drunk though,” he hastens to add, when he looks back and sees the disappointment and disdain there on Dr. Strange’s face.

The man shakes his head and marks something down. “I’m not going to bother with a lecture on the dangers and foolishness of underage drinking, as I’m sure it would just go in one ear and out the other, with you.” He looks down at Peter’s chart as if to see what else is missing. “I’m assuming the answer is ‘no’ for ‘currently sexually active?’”

“Um, no. I am,” Peter fairly whispers.

Strange’s gaze snaps to his and Peter feels himself flushing. He wants to melt into the table because he just _knows_ that he’s going to be crying again. “Well, then, that adds another part to this exam I’ll have to do.” He moves to grab something from a drawer - something he hadn’t expected to need, or it would have been on his tray. He comes back with a horrifying metal instrument that Peter is desperately hoping isn’t what he thinks it is.

“W-what exactly?” Peter asks.

“Checking for any anal tearing that may have happened, as well as for possible transmitted diseases or infections.”

“H-he said he was clean,” Peter offers.

“And did you see his results?” Strange asks. “From when he was last tested?”

Peter has to shake his head. “N-no. I trust him.”

“I’m sure you do,” he’s told condescendingly. “Unfortunately, there are plenty of unsavory people out there who will lie to get a quick lay.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Peter insists.

“We’ll see then, won’t we?”

He can’t bear to look as Strange lubes the speculum or sits down on the stool and rolls closer so he can start to-

“You may feel some pressure,” Strange says, pressing it in. “But this is probably much smaller than what you’ve felt in your sexual activities.”

“Actually,” Peter says. “It’s a lot bigger, honestly. He wasn’t much to write home about.”

“Is that so?” Strange asks, voice unreadable.

“I had to get myself off, actually,” Peter adds. Why he’s offering this information up, he doesn’t know. “I like him, but he’s not all that great in bed.”

“That’s a shame to hear.”

There’s a terrible cranking sort of noise and Peter feels the speculum opening inside him. He counts the prongs of pressure as it opens… there’s three, not two.

“Let me just get this light and take a look.”

Dr. Strange wheels a standing light over and using the flexible arm, positions it so that it’s shining over Peter’s exposed hole. He pulls another pair of gloves on with a snap and leans forward.

“Internal tissue looks good, nice and pink as it should be. ”Let’s look a little deeper, though.’

There’s more cranking and Peter cries as he feels himself stretched out so wide, too wide. “Dr. Strange, please!”

Strange looks up. “I’m almost done, Peter. And I wouldn’t have to do this if you hadn’t decided to bend over for some man who apparently can’t even please you.” He takes what looks like an extra-long q-tip, inserts it, moves it around so that Peter can feel it pressing against his walls, and pulls it out. He breaks the head off and puts it in a small vial. “I’ll send this sample for a culture to make sure there you don’t have any disease or infection from your activities.” He cranks the speculum open a bit more. “Hopefully one day you’ll make better decisions for your health.” 

He leans down to look again and presses his fingers in. “I’m not seeing or feeling any tears, which is good.” He feels around and brushes over something that has Peter keening. “And your prostate is still in working order, obviously.”

Dr. Strange withdraws his fingers and rolls back on his stool. “While have you open, I’m going to give you a suppository pain killer for any discomfort the speculum may have caused.”

“Suppository?”

“A suppository is a small plug such as this,” Strange holds up a small bullet-shaped package that was sitting on his supply table. “That’s meant to be inserted into a body cavity and melt at body temperature, releasing the medicine. In this case, rectally.”

“I don’t want it,” Peter says instantly. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

But Dr. Strange has already removed the capsule from its packaging. He inserts it before Peter can get another word out.

“I said I didn’t want it,” Peter says weakly.

“And I have an oath to do no harm,” Strange responds. “I can’t in good conscience let you leave in pain.”

He does something where Peter can’t see and the pressure from the speculum is retreating. He feels his walls clenching as the instrument is removed and when Peter sees Strange put it back on the table, he just stares. The prongs are still spread pretty far apart. They’d been opened even further _inside_ of him.

“Something wrong?”

“Just… will I be okay? Down there? You opened me up so much!”

Strange lifts a brow. “You’ll be just fine, Peter. It’s a normal procedure and you’ll be just like you were in no time at all. It looks more intimidating than it actually is.”

He stands. “Let’s check the progress of the ice pack.”

When the ice pack is lifted from Peter’s groin, Dr. Strange almost smiles. “There we go, nice and soft.” He changes gloves and grabs the measuring tape. “I’ll get your measurements and then we’ll be all finished.” He sounds so cheerful and Peter hates him. Hates everything about this.

“Total flaccid length is 3 ¼ inches,” Strange says, making a note on his chart. “Flaccid shaft length is 2 ½ inches and flaccid girth is…” he checks the take. “4 ½ inches.”

“We’re done?” Peter asks.

“Yes, unless you have any questions for me?”

Peter has _a lot_ of questions he’d like to ask Dr. Strange.

“No,” he says instead. “No, I think I’m good.”

“Okay. I’ll leave so you can get dressed again and then I’ll go over my findings with you and we can get you out of here.” He helps Peter out of the stirrups, and the feel of his bare hands on Peter’s knees and thighs has heat stirring in Peter. Peter needs him out of here. So badly.

Sitting up and making sure his groin his covered by his gown and his hands, Peter ~~im~~ patiently waits until Strange is gone before he’s touching himself. He looks over and sees the speculum, still opened and clenches. He can feel the suppository melting inside him, can feel the liquid and pretend that it’s just lube, something to ease the way, not some embarrassing way of medicating himself.

He’s so lost in his thoughts, of knowing that that _thing_ had been _inside_ him so deep and wide, that someone - even as hated as Dr. Strange - had seen him _there_ , that he doesn’t hear the knock or the door opening. He’s so hard and he’s stroking himself even as shame fills him for his reactions.

“Peter! What do you think you’re doing?”

He looks up with a choked cry to see Dr. Strange standing there, arms folded looking very displeased.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says. He’s crying again because it’s _too much_ and he _hates_ this. “I just-”

Strange knocks his hands away. “You’re going to hurt yourself like that,” he says. He pulls on gloves. “Rubbing dry skin on dry skin… how you haven’t ended up on my table for this before is beyond me.” He pumps some of the lubricant onto his gloved hands.

Then he takes Peter’s cock and starts stroking himself. “You need some type of lubrication, Peter. Unscented lotion or proper lubricant.”

Peter moans, nods. “I’m sorry.”

“Without it you can cause micro-tears on the skin of your penis and if bacteria get into those tears, you can get quite the nasty infection.” He grips tighter and reaches over for another small specimen vial. “Might as well make it count.”

He strokes Peter, berating him the whole time and while Peter feels ashamed down to his core, he’s also never felt so aroused. “I have to say that I’m disappointed in you, Peter. I’ve never had such an uncooperative, disrespectful patient. Drinking, engaging in other risky behavior like having sexual intercourse with an untested partner, _masturbating_ in the exam room like a pervert… Sometimes I think that doctor-patient confidentiality is overrated. There should be some way to report this.”

“’m sorry,” Peter says again, weakly. His head is tilted back and he’s rolling his hips as best he can while still sitting on the exam table.

“I’m sure you are,” Strange says condescendingly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hysterical.” His pace speeds up and Peter can feel his orgasm racing towards him.

“Please,” he whimpers out. “Dr. Strange, please.”

“Come on then,” Strange tells him.

That’s all he needs and his climax crashes into him, races through him like lightning and and he’s coming and coming and _fuck_ he feels so good and he’s needed this _so badly_ and Strange is still stroking, collecting Peter’s ejaculate into the specimen vial.

When Peter falls back onto the table, drained, Strange screws the lid on the vial and sets it on the table. He stands and pulls off his gloves, disposes of them. “If I leave now, do you think you can actually get dressed this time and not turn my exam room into your personal perverted space?”

Peter nods. “Yeah.”

“Forgive me if I don’t quite believe you.” He goes to the door. “Three minutes.”

Peter doesn't really want to move. He’s floating, mind blissfully blank.

“Peter?” Stephen’s coming back in the room, holding a bottle of water. "Peter, are you okay?

“Yeah,” he says dreamily. “I feel so good, like I’m flying.”

“I didn’t push you too far, did I?” Stephen asks, brushing Peter’s sweaty hair out of his face. “I wasn’t too hard?”

“No, you were perfect. It was so good, Stephen. You’re so good at it.” He opens his eyes, smiles. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“Very much,” Stephen says. “I love making you cry, watching how embarrassed you get.” 

Peter laughs. “I thought you were going to break there, for a minute.”

“Because you were crying?”

“No, because I said you weren’t good in bed. And that you had a small dick.”

Stephen slid his fingers through Peter’s hair, tightened. “You’re such a fucking brat,” he says warmly. “I’m amazed you said it with a straight face.”

“It was hard,” Peter admits. “Because you’re amazing in bed and hung like a god.” He looks up at Stephen. “And you get me off, every time.”

Stephen smiles. “Indeed. Now, drink some water for me.”

He helps Peter sit up, brings the water bottle to his mouth. “There we go.” He stops Peter when he drinks too fast, then brings the water bottle back. “Easy, Peter. I don’t feel like actually being a doctor because you choked.”

“That would be fun to explain,” Peter says with a laugh. “We’re going to do this again, right?”

Stephen nods. “If it’s something you want to keep doing, yes. I certainly enjoy it.”

“You like a lot of things where you get to be mean to me.”

He softens. “Only because I never mean it and I adore taking care of you afterwards.” He kisses Peter. “And because you trust me enough to let me.”

Peter smiles and drinks some more water. “I’ll always trust my Doctor Stephen Strange.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like in Private Practice, this is a negotiated and discussed scene and both Stephen and Peter are enthusiastically consenting.


End file.
